by Denise Levertov

    He had not looked，

    pitiful man whom none

    pity， whom all

    must pity if they look

    into their own face （given

    only by glass， steel， water

    barely known） all

    who look up

    to see-how many

    faces？ How many

    seen in a lifetime？ （Not those that flash by， but those

    into which the gaze wanders

    and is lost

    and returns to tell

    Here is a mystery，

    a person， an

    other， an I？